


the colours of the world

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras is the only person he knows with magic, until he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the colours of the world

Enjolras is eight years old and he already knows that his is an important secret to keep. His parents act as if it's something embarrassing, something to be hidden away and never acknowledged. Even at eight, Enjolras disagrees. He practices in the privacy of his room, the door shut tight as he walks his toys across the room and back with nothing but a thought. He keeps his room tidy, his toys packed neatly away in boxes stacked higher than he can reach and is disciplined for it. He is threatened with smacks whenever he so much as hints at using his magic and even that doesn't stop him.

At the age of ten, Enjolras finally tells someone. Combeferre is his best friend and they've known each other for years, and the first time Enjolras makes their ball float in the air between them, Combeferre's eyes light up with joy.

"That's _amazing_ ," Combeferre whispers. "You're amazing."

It's the first time he's ever been encouraged, and even at ten years of age, Enjolras needs to sit down and hold his head in his hands.

"Are you okay?" Combeferre asks with concern and Enjolras doesn't know how to explain that he's never felt more okay in his entire life. He simply nods and that's enough for Combeferre to understand. He sits down beside Enjolras and wraps an arm around his shoulders, squeezing gently. Enjolras already considers Combeferre as his best and most trusted friend, but there is something about this moment that tells him that their friendship has just become that much closer and stronger than before.

«·»

With Combeferre's acceptance and support, Enjolras thrives. Nobody knows him as well as Combeferre does, nobody else is even afforded the chance to wholly accept and love Enjolras the way Combeferre does without a second thought.

At fourteen, Enjolras' magic has grown beyond inanimate objects. He can communicate with small animals and they are drawn to him now, birds perched outside his window and greeting him in the morning, stray cats leading him to all the best hiding places, all of them accepting Combeferre as part of Enjolras, greeting him with kind words that he lacks the magic to understand.

They're sitting in a harder—a particular favourite of Enjolras' neighbour calico—watching in wonder as spiders weave intricate webs and dragonflies flit about in the air. Combeferre has a magnifying glass in one hand, an insect encyclopedia open in his lap as he identifies beetles, butterflies, mantises, and more. A moth flutters down to perch on his nose and his eyes go wide with delight. Enjolras smiles fondly, calling more moths closer, flying above Combeferre's head as he flicks through his book to identify all of them.

Enjolras hasn't believed a single word his parents have had to say about the evils of using magic and he certainly doesn't believe it now. Not when he can use it to make Combeferre smile like this. It makes him want to find out just how much of a difference he can make to people's lives with the use of his magic and he knows how much the very thought of this would make his parents panic. If anything, it encourages him even more.

But he's fourteen, and he's the only magic-user that he knows. He has to keep this part of him a secret and as long as he's doing that, his options are limited. It doesn't stop him, but it means that he has to be subtle about it. He balances it out by being loud and passionate in every other aspect of his life. If he cannot make dramatic changes with magic, he will simply have to find another way. Combeferre, as always, is right behind him.

«·»

When Enjolras and Combeferre meet Courfeyrac, he fits neatly into their lives the way nobody else has before, filling gaps that they never even realised were there. He balances them perfectly, ensures that they don't get lost in their ambitions and seriousness. He makes sure that they have _fun_ and at the same time, it's clear that he cares for people just as much as they do. He needs to care, he needs to be needed, and he believes in making a change just as much as Enjolras and Combeferre do.

Enjolras doesn't tell Courfeyrac about his magic to begin with. As much as he trusts Courfeyrac, it isn't as easy as it had been to tell Combeferre. Back then, they had been young and innocent and it hadn't needed even half as much explaining as it would now. He feels guilty for leaving Courfeyrac out, even if he doesn't realise that it's happening. Combeferre, thankfully, doesn't push. He seems to understand this without needing an explanation, just as he understands so many of Enjolras' thoughts and feelings. It's Enjolras' call to make and it might get even more difficult to explain as time passes, but now is simply not a good time.

This changes at the beginning of their last year of high school. Enjolras is meant to be at home working on his assignments, but he's on his way to Combeferre's house instead, led by a bird that had insisted on pecking on his window until he followed. The door is unlocked and he walks in, stopping short when he sees Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

They're on the couch and they're—no, _kissing_ doesn't quite do it justice. Yes, their lips are pressed together, but they're lying in each other's arms, fingers interlocked and resting on Combeferre's chest. They look so content in each other's presence that Enjolras is suddenly and extremely aware of the fact that he is intruding. He's going to have words about personal boundaries with that bird when he gets outside—

"Enjolras?" Combeferre notices him before he can hope to get away silently. He lifts his head, but stays where he is. His arm is around Courfeyrac's shoulder, holding him close, providing silent reassurance. 

"Hi," he says, and clears his throat. "Sorry—I didn't mean to interrupt. It's just… a bird told me…"

"There are rumours going around?" Courfeyrac asks, horrified.

"Um. No." Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose and gives his best friend the most apologetic look he is capable of. Combeferre looks at Courfeyrac like he's the entire world, and if he's that important to Combeferre, then he's automatically that important to Enjolras too. "Look, Courf, you're going to have to forgive me for the utter mess I'm going to make of this, but I have something important to tell you…"

«·»

He meets Grantaire in a coffee line, while he's rushing to get to their meeting on time. His shoulder brushes against Grantaire's as they pass each other by and the only reason it's remarkable at all, the only reason he remembers that wild, curling hair and wide blue eyes is because of the way Grantaire turns and _stares_ at him. He looks awestruck, his mouth hanging open, and Enjolras' doesn't know his name, but recognises his face in the small crowd at the end of the meeting.

Courfeyrac introduces them, because of course he knows everyone. Grantaire doesn't offer a hand to shake, just nods tightly in greeting before proceeding to tear down most of Enjolras' arguments, exposing the holes in his logic until Enjolras is forced to come up with stronger facts to support his points. Grantaire refuses to be swayed and Enjolras doesn't even realise that they spend an entire hour arguing back and forth until the owner of the café politely suggests that they leave and, once that doesn't succeed, all but pushes them out onto the street.

Grantaire continues to watch Enjolras with some strange mix of amazement and apprehension that the rest of their friends quickly pick up on. He doesn't know the reason for it and he doesn't know how to ask. Grantaire doesn't seem particularly keen on explaining it either.

"Have you tried talking to him?" Combeferre asks after one meeting, about three weeks after Enjolras had first met Grantaire. He forestalls Enjolras' reply and adds, "Arguing doesn't count. I don't mean butting heads over ideologies—strangely entertaining as it is to watch you come up with new and interesting ways of arguing the same points—I mean having an actual conversation." 

"About… what?" Enjolras' brows draw together, and Combeferre sighs patiently.

"You'll figure it out. Sooner or later."

A little over a month after they first meet, Grantaire hangs back at the end of a meeting and walks over to where Enjolras is packing everything up with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He has his hands in his pockets and the same strange look on his face that Enjolras has given up trying to read.

"I need to talk to you," Grantaire tells him quietly, while Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchange meaningful looks.

"You were quiet today during our meeting," Enjolras replies, as he finished packing everything back into his bag. "Why are you waiting until now to speak up?"

"It's not about the meeting," Grantaire says, his face flushing. "It's about… you. I know you're different to most other people. I mean. _Different_."

Enjolras immediately understands what Grantaire actually means and his gaze flicks in Combeferre and Courfeyrac's direction.

"No, they didn't tell me," Grantaire speaks up, shaking his head. "You know they never would. I know because… well, I guess it's because I'm different too."

Before Enjolras can even reply, Grantaire takes a hand out of his pocket, touching his index finger to the table in front of him. Smoke rises from nothing, taking the form of a small bird. It flies to Enjolras, perching on his shoulder and chirping at him—a strange, hollow sound—before it dissipates. 

Enjolras, so captivated by the bird, doesn't even realise that Grantaire is gone.

"Whoa," Courfeyrac says, hushed and awestruck. "You can't do that."

"No." Enjolras can still hear the ghostly notes of birdsong in his mind. "I can't."

«·»

Enjolras would like to say that it's a gradual process from there, but he's never really been one to lie to himself. His friendship with Grantaire develops faster than any friendship before; he does not leave Grantaire alone the next time they see each other, full of questions. As it turns out, Grantaire has just as many answers as he does, and instead of discouraging Enjolras, it just means that they end up spending more time together, trying to puzzle all of this out together.

Grantaire, as it turns out, has never told a single person that he's capable of magic before. While Enjolras had Combeferre to help and support him from youth, Grantaire's been on his own with nothing to balance out the negativity and fear from his parents. It makes Enjolras want to make up for all the years that he's been on his own and if Grantaire realises what he's doing, he's kind enough to play along instead of calling Enjolras out on it. 

"You're capable of so much," Enjolras tells Grantaire one afternoon. He's beginning to understand Grantaire so much better now, beginning to understand why he thinks the way he does, why he hums uncomfortably and looks away, deflecting the compliment. "No, really, Grantaire. There have to be more of us out there. Imagine what we could do—"

"No," Grantaire cuts him off immediately. "Think about it, Enjolras. You've had Combeferre and Courfeyrac supporting you for years and you still haven't used your magic for anything _big_. The only reason I knew you had magic at all was because I felt it when we touched."

"About that," Enjolras says. "Why didn't I feel anything?"

Grantaire shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you already had people who knew and accepted who you were, but in my case…"

Enjolras reaches over, covering Grantaire's hand with his own. Grantaire's gaze snaps up to Enjolras' and he swallows hard. He doesn't move his hand away and after a moment, Enjolras squeezes it gently as he shifts closer. 

Everything suddenly makes a little more sense now and it makes Enjolras smile as he lifts his fingers to Grantaire's chin.

"Enjolras." Grantaire' voice is more of a breath than anything else. Their noses are brushing and Grantaire's breath is warm on Enjolras' lips, making them tingle. Enjolras only gets the briefest of moments to savour it, before Grantaire is pulling away. "Don't do this. Please."

"Don't… what?" Enjolras' hand feels cold as Grantaire carefully moves his away, balling it into a fist and resting it by his side. 

"I don't want you to do this because we're both magic," Grantaire whispers, not meeting Enjolras' eyes. "I don't—I don't want to fall into this just because we have this one thing in common."

"But Grantaire—"

"We know each other in a way most people don't," Grantaire tells him, and Enjolras can't help but think of the times they'd used their magic together, creating shapes and combining them together, feeling more powerful for it. His heart races at the very memory. "But Enjolras, I'm not going to let my magic define me. It's a part of me and I'll never deny that. It's a big part of who we are to each other—no, it's _all_ we are to each other. Just try and tell me that without magic, we would be talking half as much as we do now. You wouldn't even have looked in my direction if not for the fact that I'd just stopped and _stared_ when we first met."

"But that doesn't change the fact that it happened," Enjolras replies. "That doesn't change how I feel."

"I don't want you to think that your options are limited to me." Grantaire shakes his head. "Because they aren't. At all. And one day you're going to realise that and—it's just better that we just get this out of the way."

"Grantaire—"

"Please, Enjolras." Grantaire is already on his feet, leaving. "Don't."

«·»

"What do I do?" Enjolras asks, frustrated. He doesn't need to hide his magic in front of Combeferre and the tumult in his mind expresses itself as twisting shadows on the wall and floor. "I just. I want to show him that I care."

"Give him time," Combeferre suggests and when the shadows on the wall twist further, he sighs. "I know it's not what you want to hear but it can't be helped. I know that you care for him beyond the fact that he's capable of magic but the fact of the matter is that he doesn't. You'll have to show him."

"I need to talk to him about things other than magic" Enjolras concludes, "but… arguing about our differences in opinion doesn't count."

"Very good," Combeferre tells him with a small smile. "I'm not going to hold your hand until you figure it out, Enjolras, but you'll get there. You're too stubborn to give up and that's one of the things that Grantaire—"

He cuts himself off and Enjolras' eyebrows rise. " _Likes about me_. That's what you were going to say."

"Enjolras…"

"He likes me, but he's afraid that I only like him because we have magic in common." Enjolras rubs a hand over his face and sighs. "I need to fix this, Combeferre."

"Have you considered the fact that he might be afraid that _he_ only likes you because you have magic in common?" Combeferre asks gently.

"No. Damn it." Enjolras sighs. "Well, there's nothing for me to do but try, and wait."

He does exactly that, doing all that he can to be a better friend to Grantaire, when they're all together at meetings and when all their friends are hanging out as a group, as well as when they're alone and building on their magic skills. Everyone else notices; it's difficult not to, and the most frustrating thing is that while half the things Enjolras does will make Grantaire smile brilliantly, it's just as likely that he'll kill Grantaire's good mood entirely, and he has no idea which response to anticipate, or why.

Eventually, Grantaire talks to him about it. They're sitting alone in a hidden corner of a park when Grantaire fixes him with a stern look that seems out of place on his face. "Look, Enjolras, you need to stop this."

"Will you at least tell me what I'm doing wrong?" Enjolras asks desperately. "Please, because I'm trying here. I'm trying and I'm _still_ messing up and—"

"You're trying to be my Combeferre," Grantaire tells him, and that makes Enjolras go silent. "You're trying to be supportive and encouraging—you can't make up for the years that I've had no one, Enjolras. I appreciate the fact that you're trying, but it's just not going to work."

"But it's unfair that I've had so much while you've had so little—"

"Life isn't _fair_ and you know it," Grantaire tells him. "Besides, I'm still better at magic than you are."

That makes Enjolras smile, because it's true. Grantaire smiles in reply and emboldened by this, Enjolras takes a deep breath. "If I'm trying to be Combeferre, then I'm trying to be the Combeferre to your Courfeyrac."

"See, that's our problem." Grantaire sighs, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. "I don't _want_ you to be the Combeferre to my Courfeyrac. Why don't you just try being the Enjolras to my Grantaire?"

"I'm not quite sure that's enough," Enjolras mumbles, looking down at his own hands.

Grantaire's loud laugh makes him look up, and there's a fond look in his eyes that tells Enjolras how wrong he is. "It's all that I want. I don't want you trying to be who you think I want, because that stops you from being _you_."

"And that's who you want," Enjolras says quietly, wonderingly.

"Yeah. I do."

Enjolras reaches over to Grantaire, taking a hand in his, twining their fingers together. His eyes widen when sparks dance over their skin. They're harmless, nothing more than little spots of warmth against the back of his hand where they fall and then disappear.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," Grantaire whispers, his cheeks burning. "I just wanted to show you how I feel, every time we touch."

Enjolras can't help the wide grin that spreads across his face. Grantaire squeezes his hand gently and Enjolras speaks in a rush, like the words are forcing their way out of him. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yeah," Grantaire murmurs. "I think you should."

Grantaire's lips are soft against his, still curved into a smile, and Enjolras wants to be frustrated at himself for taking this long to realise that all he had to was be _himself_ , but he can't bring himself to care about that; he can't bring himself to care about anything other than the way Grantaire feels in his arms.

«·»

Their first fight as a couple is about magic. It shouldn't be as surprising as it is.

Enjolras is determined to use his magic to make a difference in the world and for that to happen, he wants to let more people know about his magic. The problem is that _his_ magic means _their_ magic, and Grantaire isn't happy with the thought of everybody knowing his most carefully-kept secret. 

It's not like the arguments they had before. There's no yelling, no harsh words, nothing but the overwhelming sense of _wrong_ , because he knows that he's hurt Grantaire when he'd intended to do the exact opposite.

Grantaire finds Enjolras two days after their fight, in the hidden part of the park, as usual. He looks just as guilty as Enjolras feels, and they reach for each other's hands as Grantaire sits down.

"You asked me once, mockingly I think, why I never fought for acknowledgement and representation of magic-users the way I do for other groups."

"I remember that."

Enjolras looks down at their joined hands. "I was the only magic-user I knew for the longest time and it… never felt right, to fight for myself."

"You fight for queer rights," Grantaire points out.

"But that's not because I'm gay," Enjolras replies. "Just like the fact that I want to speak up about magic now doesn't have anything to do with me. Well. It does, but that's because I won't fight for me… but Grantaire, I'd fight to the end of the world for you."

"Fuck," Grantaire mutters, throwing his arms around Enjolras' shoulders. "I hope this isn't how _all_ of our arguments go from now on, because having actual proper arguments is one of my favourite things about being with you."

Enjolras smiles, but doesn't let them stray too far off topic. "I want to do this, Grantaire. I want to create the world that we _should have_ grown up in. I want to do it for you, but I'm going to wait until you're ready, okay? And if that day never comes… well. I guess it just won't come and I—care about you enough to accept that."

"I care about you a lot too, okay?" Grantaire murmurs, his grip on Enjolras growing tighter. They both mean something more but if they're not ready for that, then they'll just have to wait for that too.

«·»

Rumours of magic start spreading around the world before Enjolras and Grantaire are even close to telling their friends. Enjolras sits in front of his laptop, watching the news spread like wildfire, responses ranging from sceptical to positive to utterly negative.

Grantaire rubs his back soothingly. "I know you wanted to be the one to make the big declaration."

It had happened by accident, from what Enjolras can tell. Someone in Japan, like them, had grown up hiding part of them all their life and the truth had burst out of her before she could hold it back. Enjolras doesn't envy the way she has become a plaything for the media, thrown around and made to repeat her story in front of thousands of different cameras, showing off her skills. She's better than Enjolras, but nowhere close to Grantaire's level. She's taken to her role spectacularly though and Enjolras hopes to meet her one day. After he and Grantaire are ready to open up about their magic.

He doesn't push Grantaire, not even know. He doesn't ask if Grantaire is ready, or when he thinks he will be ready. For now, he cherishes Grantaire's magic as something that only he is privy to, with the exception of Combeferre and Courfeyrac. 

And then one afternoon, Grantaire decides.

"Tomorrow," he says. "At the end of the meeting. We'll tell our friends, tell the community, maybe see if we've missed any magic-users nearby. What do you think?"

Enjolras thinks his smile says enough. He pulls Grantaire close, the old couch sagging beneath them. Their arms wrap around each other like they never plan on letting go.

Grantaire says _I love you_ with splashes of colour, letting his magic paint them, letting his magic make art the way he never does when he's standing in front of an easel.

( _I don't want magic to be the only thing I'm good at_ , he'd told Enjolras once, his fingers nervously twisting together, bright blue eyes fixed on the floor. _I never use it in my paintings._ )

Primary colours turn to secondary, tertiary, washing over their skin as Grantaire nuzzles into Enjolras' neck, their fingers linked together. It's beautiful, breath-taking, and when Grantaire finally lets the colours fade, there are tears in Enjolras' eyes that he feels ridiculous for. 

"No," Grantaire whispers, looking horrified at the thought of being responsible for them, but the apology on his tongue never makes it out of his mouth. Enjolras surges forward, kissing him, both his hands buried in Grantaire's wild, curling hair.

 _I love you too_ , he says with the feeling of warmth, like the sun is shining on them both, tempered by a gentle breeze, even though they're inside. Grantaire smiles against his lips, and Enjolras knows he understands.


End file.
